


Promise and Principle: A Christmas Story  - Day 34 in the Year and a Day Series

by ImolaOrange



Series: A Year and a Day [1]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Christmas Eve, Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:36:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImolaOrange/pseuds/ImolaOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Childermass keeps his promise and makes another, only to discover Mr. Segundus behaving foolishly on principle. Vinculus is told he cannot be trusted, and has no quarrel with that. Jacob cooks a goose, Agatha worries, Mrs. Honeyfoot hangs some garland, Mr. Honeyfoot hangs a great deal more, and not a few of them get quite drunk. Brewer, well, horses do not celebrate Christmas, but if they did he would not find this one pleasing. Finally, maybe, just maybe, on this Christmas Eve, Mr. Segundus is that much closer to having his deepest wish come true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise and Principle: A Christmas Story  - Day 34 in the Year and a Day Series

**Author's Note:**

> This story made its first appearance last December and while I was pleased with it, I still thought it could use some polish. So here it is - revised, expanded, and now with 3x's the feels! 
> 
> Second, a note to you dear reader, this story picks up 34 days after the events in _And Some of What He Knew Might be the Death of Him_ , you could read _Promise and Principle_ without knowing anything that happened in its prequel, but it won't have the same sort of resonance. There's a slow build relationship going on here, and I mean _slow_.

Childermass had made a promise. A promise that no matter how far a field he roamed these two weeks he had been away, he would be back in time for Christmas at Starecross. 

A proper Christmas.

Childermass recalled, in all his years he had never had such a thing. A house strung with garland and a Yule bright in the hearth. A table set proper and heavy with puddings, loaves of fresh bread, tangy greens, and at the center a fat roast goose with browned skin. And as if this fine repast could never be enough, there would be glasses of wine and mugs of cider for which to wash it all down. Finally when they had left the table and retired to the cozy den for conversation and contentment – so full they might hardly be able to set one foot before the other - there would come the appearance of a steaming berry pie and platter of sweetmeats all to fill a belly to bursting. This was Segundus’ wish this year, nay, not a wish, but an adamant desire that had caught the household in its fervor.

It might be thought that John Childermass would sneer at such things, for there was nothing in his nature that would suggest even a wit of tolerance for such extravagances. Though he was no miser, he kept his coin well-tallied and his indulgences few. It was perhaps owing to the fact that his formative years were tenuous and uncertain. Black Joan was as much of a mother as circumstance did allow, and Christmastime niceties had no place in the fragile scrabble of a pickpocket’s life. That did not mean the season was not appreciated, though there never were bursting bellies and paper-wrapped gifts beneath a tree, it was still a time of plenty. Distracted shoppers, crowds gathered to see the holiday shows, heavy purses, and the occasional unattended parcels provided a great many opportunities, though the danger was still as sharp and harsh as any other time. Childermass did not miss those days, or the woman who had birthed him; if anything could be said it would be that he appreciated the schooling gained by an early life upon the streets. Be they friend, rival, or foe, all who knew him could say John Childermass was a man of uncommon education and skill. 

There had always been a Christmas of sorts at Hurtfew, and later, London. A small celebration gathered around the kitchen table after Mr. Norrell retired for the evening. To eat, there was pie, usually apple, or if they were very lucky, custard sprinkled with nutmeg. A bottle of wine, selected from the cellar by Childermass himself, and more often than not a plate piled with sweetmeats. Sometimes gifts, almost always of the practical sort, homemade scarves, knitted mittens and socks, often for Childermass, a pouch of fresh tobacco from the staff. It was a time Childermass tolerated, even encouraged, not the least because a merry celebration beneath the twitching nose of their master brought him no end of amusement. It was not so very different than the cat Mr. Norrell would report seeing, which Childermass told him was ridiculous but was in fact not, for there was a cat, two in fact, a ghostly and ferocious pair of soot-grey sisters.

Hurtfew was no longer his home, its very existence erased by the spell of his master, the Raven King, nor did London hold any appeal. His home was here now in this rambling old structure built to endure the storms of Yorkshire and surprisingly and most wonderfully, the frightful strength of Faerie magic. He had a home now, not simply a place of employment and a room lent merely to store himself and his few belongings as long as he was useful, or tolerated. Here at Starecross he was welcomed, worried over, and relied upon in a way he had never experienced. It might have made him uneasy, yet he found that it did not. Instead, there was a comfort that settled heavy and welcome in his bones. He supposed he was getting old. 

Childermass finished tending to Brewer and made his way from the stables to the house. The silence and the sharpness of the country air filling his lungs was a welcome change from the stench and distraction of the towns he had frequented these past days. He took the briefest moment to pause and offer a quick acknowledgement to the snow and wind and the touch of magic that was in this night. 

Climbing the steps he pushed his way past the heavy outer door and into the warming room. There he hung his coat and hat upon their pegs before stomping and scraping the last of the snow and mud from his boots. When at last he stepped into the Starecross kitchen with his smile and tired bones, empty stomach, and saddlebags laden with gifts, he was prepared for a rather different scene than the somber one he encountered.

A long look about, followed by a quirk of his eyebrow brought the news forthwith from a near-panic stricken Agatha. 

“Mr. Segundus left for town late in the afternoon, sir. He said he had forgotten something that could not be left undone. Now it is dark and he still has not returned. He must be out there somewhere upon the road. I prayed that you would cross paths upon your return, for you know he is not much with the outdoors, sir, and he cannot ride - if you’ll pardon me - to save his life. He would be walking the whole way!”

Childermass’ quirked brow joined its companion where it contributed to the scowl fast overtaking his features.

At the table there was the scrape of a chair and the thump of stockinged feet. “He was in such a hurry, the fool did not bother to dress proper for the journey or weather.” Vinculus turned his attention from the delivery of this news to chipping away at a piece of crust belonging to the pie cooling upon the table. It was his misfortune that Agatha’s distraction was not so complete that she missed such a trespass, and before he could withdraw Vinculus received a hearty rap upon his knuckles from a handy spoon. 

Jacob closed the oven door and turned to the gathered crowd. “I would say that whatever is going to be done must begin soon. The goose shall be done forthwith and may cool a time, yet beyond that our feast is nearly ready!” Jacob was a bit cross, for catastrophe or not, he like all cooks did not appreciate a fine and laborious meal delayed to ruination.

Childermass, much to his annoyance could well imagine Mr. Segundus undertaking such a late and foolish effort without considering the full consequences of his endeavor. For Childermass remembered quite clearly that long ago meeting before the York Cathedral. There stood the small man huddled and shivering in his thin coat while the snow fell all around; a determined man full of principle and purpose, and yet so lacking in common sense.

The warmth of the kitchen was making Childermass drowsy. The smell of food, the meat of the goose and the tang of the berries simmering in the pot had awakened his empty stomach. He wanted little more than to wash away the sweat of the road with a warm basin of soapy water and spend the rest of his evening before the hearth bright with warmth and company. His feet – raised most improperly - upon the table, pipe in hand. He sighed, but a few miles more and a time longer, and he might have his desire.

“I will bring him home.”

Vinculus came to his feet. “Leave off, you’re road-worn, and I can do it just as well. That beast of yours tolerates me like enough that I can get the task done.”

“Aye, he does at that,” replied Childermass, hanging his saddlebags with care upon a chair back. “Yet there is the simple fact that I do not trust you for this undertaking. Not when I know that two taverns are within easy reach this eve.”

Vinculus grinned and shrugged, not at all bothering to look indignant or put upon in any way. 

Agatha handed Childermass a piece of bread - still warm - slathered with butter and jam, and topped with a hearty slice of cheese. Childermass spared a few moments to savor the bread and the sharp tang of the cheese mixed with the sweet of the jam before washing it down with a cup of warm mulled wine. The meal was over far too soon and his stomach rumbled for more, it would have to wait, as would the other luxuries of this night. He rose, drew on his gloves and walked to the door before his bones could settle any more into the comfort of even the rudest kitchen chair. Turning back, he managed a smile at the assembled group. 

“I shall fetch our wayward innkeeper, and a fine dinner and merriment shall be had by all, if a bit later than planned.”

Agatha followed him into the warming room, where she shook out his greatcoat and traded his damp scarf for another that was warm and dry and smelled of lavender. Fussing with the buttons of his coat she looked up with large eyes full of unease. 

“Please have a care, sir, the roads are dark and there may be ice beneath the snow.” Agatha fretted whenever he left, she did not trust him to stay out of trouble, no matter his assurances of his experience and cautious ways. He stepped from her grasp, putting an end to her gentle fretting.

“Brewer has more sense than the lot of us, I shall be fine, madam. You may be assured of that.”

Brewer gave an irritated snort when the blanket and saddle settled onto his back; the horse was quite content at his hay before this interruption. A swish of his tail and stomp of a heavy hoof had his master muttering soothing nonsense while he eased the bit between hay-speckled teeth.

Mr. Honeyfoot dodged swinging hindquarters and expressed his concern. “Is he up to another journey? It is plain that you two have traveled at speed this day.”

Childermass laughed a short bark and laid a fond hand upon a muscled brown shoulder. “I did not chuse him for his looks. He will do well enough, as will I. All I ask is that you keep the lanterns lit. It will make a merry enough homecoming upon our return.”

Mr. Honeyfoot smiled and clapped Childermass upon the back. “We shall do you better than that, sir, a promise!”

Vinculus offered Brewer a few lumps of sugar and rubs upon the broad plain head while Childermass made final adjustments to the tack. The ragged man was grinning when he pulled a warm wineskin from beneath his jacket and offered it to Childermass. “I know you think yourself above such trivialities, but have a care, there is likely to be ice about and who knows whatever else.”

Settling himself into the saddle, Childermass reached down to take the skin, voicing his thanks with a low murmur. Then, with a final nod to the two men, John Childermass urged Brewer from the warmth of the stable and set forth into the snowy Christmas night.

  
 

Once the Starecross grounds were left behind, Childermass pulled Brewer to a stop. From his saddlebag he drew forth a dirty stocking of John Segundus’ that he had scavenged from the warming room. Holding the rumpled item in his palm, Childermass began to murmur a short incantation over and over until he felt a strange, slightly unpleasant pull at his center. A connection had been made; he hoped Segundus would take notice as well, though there was no telling in what state the man was at this time. This spell would at least alleviate the danger of Childermass riding straight past in the snow and dark. 

Satisfied, Childermass tucked the item back into the saddlebag from whence it had come and set Brewer into an easy canter. The glow of white blanketing the ground did a fair job of illuminating his path and the pair made their way easy enough, the stallion’s hooves thudding and crackling through the crust of snow. It was quite beautiful and quiet and solitary with the glinting of snow and the perfection of it all. Despite his aches and fatigue, Childermass found he took some pleasure in the ride.

While he rode, he wondered what errand it was that had Segundus undertaking this late and unwise dash to town. However he soon put this from his mind, for there was no telling what manner of necessity had driven the man to this foolishness on the very eve of their celebration. Soon, it was only the uncomfortable pull in his middle, and the wish for his pipe that occupied a fair portion of John Childermass’ thoughts.

Childermass slowed Brewer to walk when he felt the thread pull taught; Segundus was near. Easing the horse to a stop, Childermass listened for the approaching crunch and scuff of shoes upon the snow and ice but heard not a thing. He frowned and stilled his breath, strained his hearing, reaching out through the night, waiting. The spell continued to pull at his center, a thread he wished to cut, yet dared not. Where was the fool? At length, and with reluctance Childermass spoke, for if there was trouble about, announcing himself in such a loud and obvious fashion, astride a horse was not the wisest course.

His voice wound through the night, a low rasp meant only for the ears of the man he sought. “Mr. Segundus, are you about, sir?”

There was a crunching and stir of movement off to his right. Childermass’ hand rested on a pistol tucked at ready in a saddlebag. A soft, cautious voice sounded from the shadows.

“Childermass?”

“Aye. Tis me.”

Segundus emerged from the swirling snowfall, one hand clasping his hat to his head, the other grasping his jacket closed. A knapsack hung from one thin shoulder.

“Childermass!”

Segundus looked well on his way to freezing when he stumbled and slid to a halt before Brewer. Yet a wide smile cracked his features and his eyes shown bright. “Your spell, sir, I felt it take hold, a most peculiar feeling. I thought it prudent to wait at the wall for your arrival. What a clever thing, you must tell me how you came by its creation!”

Irritation and exasperation warred quite plainly upon Childermass’ face when he looked down upon the shivering man. Alighting from the saddle, his gloved fingers released the stays holding the work coat he kept in the stable; a garment even older than his beloved greatcoat and acquired under circumstances just as mysterious. Childermass pulled the garment from the saddleback and shook away the snow before presenting it to Segundus. 

“It is not the cleanest thing, you’ll smell like a barn, but it is a sight warmer than what you have on.”

Mr. Segundus did not seem to care and he stepped forward, eager to accept the heavy old garment. “You must think me a fool, sir.”

“Aye, you know me well.” Childermass forced Segundus’ stiff limbs into the coat before pulling it up about the man’s shoulders, then he set about the buttons, for Segundus was shaking so terribly they would have been there all night had he been left to work it out all on his own.

Segundus answered through chattering teeth. “I know you as well, sir. When the darkness took hold and the snow began to fall, I knew you who would come down the road.”

Childermass gave a snort and muttered something angry beneath his breath while he finished buttoning Segundus into the coat, withdrew a scarf from the saddlebag and wound it swiftly and rather ungently about Segundus’ throat. The man looked nigh ridiculous bundled so, the coat being far too big for him and almost dragging upon the ground. Still, it would keep out the worst this night had to offer. Finally he pulled the wineskin from Vinculus off the saddle and offered it to Segundus.

“What are you saying, sir?” Segundus voice slipped between a stiff jaw and clattering teeth. A bit of wine dribbled down his chin. 

“I said, that I ache and I am hungry. That I have ridden all day to reach Starecross and the promise of a fine dinner, good company, and a warm hearth, all at your behest I will add. Instead, I am here upon the road this Christmas Eve with a fool."

Childermass plucked the skin from Segundus numb hands and took a long drink before handing it over once again. “Whatever it was that set you on this nonsensical errand cannot be worth the price of near freezing to death, sir!”

Fighting the ungainly weight of the coat, Segundus fought to draw himself to his full height before addressing the man before him. 

“On the contrary, it was worth every stumble and shiver, and though I cannot fault you your feelings regarding this miserable task you were forced to undertake. I’ll ask that you take more care in your declaration, for I did not undertake this journey lightly!”

Childermass rolled his eyes and turned away to gather Brewer’s reins before swinging into the saddle. Reaching down he seized Segundus by the upper arm and all but dragged him aboard the stallion. They set off immediately, with Segundus clasping his hands to Childermass’ shoulders and doing his best to settle into the rhythm of Brewer’s shifting hindquarters.

Despite his wish to make a swift journey home, Childermass shewed a measure of kindness, or, Segundus amended himself, practicality. He did not urge the beast to a rolling canter but for now kept him to a swift walk. It would do no good to have to explain to the other residents of Starecross that the man he had ridden forth to fetch had tumbled from the back of Brewer and cracked his head upon some icy cart rut.

Mr. Segundus endeavored to make amends. “Thank you for this. The time quite got away from me, and the weather was not so much when I left. It all took me quite by surprise.” Segundus managed a pull from the wine skin without toppling to the frozen ground.

Childermass grunted in reply before a gloved hand reached beneath his greatcoat to dig at the stitch in his side. His other injuries from the encounter with crazed faerie were well healed and caused him not a whit of thought; faded now to nothing more than faint silvery scars, finer and lighter even than the one upon his cheek. Yet the wound in his side still gave him reminder here and there when he moved too sudden, or passed too much time in the saddle as on this day.

Mrs. Honeyfoot had assured him it would end and that he must exercise a measure of patience, reminding him that the injury might easily have proven lethal. Childermass thought back to his battle with the creature and a pleased smile took his features when he remembered the gratifying feel of a strike finding its home in the fiend’s flesh.

“Are you well?” Segundus’ muffled voice sounded from behind.

“I am well enough as can be expected,” was the short reply. The scent of hay and other things filled Childermass’ nostrils.

“You have used the salve Mrs. Honeyfoot prescribed?” a statement as much as a question.

“Aye.” Usually a man to dictate his own terms in near every aspect of his existence; Childermass had been a remarkably obedient patient through his ordeal and had indeed used the salve and followed every instruction faithfully.

“Excellent, I am glad to hear it, sir! And I feel much better now, thank you.” Segundus’ hands were steady upon his shoulders and Childermass no longer felt the tremors wracking the man’s slim body. 

Settled now, Segundus kept up his banter. “Was your journey successful, sir?”

“Successful enough, despite my presence I think there shall be a fair group of students who will attend your school. I daresay there will also be a few who will join the fold because of my presence.” 

Childermass said no more on the matter of this cryptic ending and Mr. Segundus let it pass at this time. It was understood that there were those who did not quite trust Childermass’ dark and ragged look, nor his shrewd gaze and clever, insolent tongue. Nor would some forgive that despite his intelligence and knowledge, his experience and cleverness, he was quite simply, not a gentleman. During those first few years in Norrell’s service this had hurt him, causing him to sharpen his tongue and push his insolence to the edge of propriety and at times beyond. Older now, the sting was gone, he was no gentleman, it was true – he held himself to higher standards.

The pair rode on in silence for a time; Childermass could have guessed it would not last. However, he could not have guessed, at least on this night when he was tired, and sore, and had thought to be spending this hour in entirely different fashion just what it was that Mr. Segundus would chuse to speak of.

“Do you remember, sir, after you bid me use the pistols and told me that wild magic was the only magic that could turn the faerie away, you said I was the reason you had continued to Starecross.”

“Aye,” answered Childermass with an air of discomfort that had nothing to do with the stitch in his side.

“Did you use me...use my affection?”

Childermass did not answer.

“I asked, sir, if you used my affection.” Segundus voice battered aside the silence of the night.

At length John Childermass answered, for he could feel the sudden quick and angry breath of Segundus upon his neck. 

“I did use you John Segundus, but I did not use your affection, not in the way you fear. I used your good heart, sir, and your kindness. I used the ferocity I knew was hidden within, the strength that shews itself when one you care for is threatened, of that, sir, I am guilty.”

Childermass answered with a humbleness seldom present in his character. He knew that he owed this truth to the other man, just as he knew one day it would be given voice, and so he answered with great care and openness. His exploits in Faerie had forced Mr. Segundus into dangerous and desperate action, and Childermass reckoned he owed the man a debt he might never have the time to repay. Now Childermass waited with some hesitation - he would not call it fear – for the man’s reply to this bald honesty. 

It was but a rare few occasions that John Childermass had been unhorsed, two in fact, and he could remember each circumstance quite clearly. There was some initial surprize when he heard Mr. Segundus give a hoarse angry roar and felt the man’s arms seize him about the middle. Following that, he knew immediately what the man was about. Realizing he could not stop the momentum of what had begun, Childermass managed to get his own hold upon Segundus, whereupon he twisted about and took the brunt of the impact when they hit the icy ground in a tangle of limbs and language foul enough to turn the snow black. The latter of which could be attributed to Childermass.

Brewer, as mentioned before was a clever steed, and a well-trained one at that. He did not shy at the sudden commotion but did find it odd that his master, who held a steady and balanced seat, would suddenly topple from his back. The horse did rightly surmise that the source of this odd occurrence was the small and timid man who often kept a pocket full of sweets.

Childermass heaved Segundus aside, sending the smaller man sliding through the snow in an ungainly sprawl. For a time Childermass lay on his back accessing each new ache and sting until a warm puff of wet air hit his cheek and tickled his ear. A cloud of misty horse breath settled about his face. Chidlermass groaned and spat before pushing the velvety nose aside. “Leave off.”

The horse snorted again before, moving away a few steps to await his master’s bidding. Upon regaining his breath, Childermass rolled to his knees and staggered to his feet. He spared a glance at Segundus who lay a few feet away, his mouth opening and closing like a fish upon the bank while he tried to catch his breath. It was fair to say Mr. Segundus actions hurt a great deal more than he had imagined. Childermass found pleasure in that. He stood over Segundus and did not offer a hand but instead looked down upon the man writhing in the snow. 

“You bloody stupid fool, were you trying to break your neck and mine as well? What manner of madness is this?”

Segundus wide round eyes blinked at the snow falling on his face and catching in his lashes. He could not speak for some time, until finally. “You will...listen to what I...have to say...”

Childermass knelt and a gloved fist twisted in Mr. Segundus’ coat hauling him upright. 

“Will I?” replied Childermass in a voice that had turned many a man on his heel, a voice that not even Mr. Norrell had dared contend. “Then speak and have done with it. Was my reply not to your liking?” Childermass’ accompanying snarl was a frightful thing, but Mr. Segundus did not balk. He shook off Childermass’ hand and came to his feet, slow and stiff and hurting, but too angry to care.

“My ‘good heart’ as you name it cannot take such a catastrophe again! I will not see the man I love,” here Childermass looked as if he had just been struck, but Segundus continued on without pause, instead only growing more determined to speak his peace. “Yes, I said such a thing! And I will not see that man brought to such a state again. When I cast the spell to drive the faerie away, I felt your desperation and your fear for each of us. It was…” here Mr. Segundus paused in frustration for he could not find the words to define what he felt in those moments, and so when he spoke again he had only a question for the other man. 

“Why, sir, do you so callously deny us such feelings?”

Childermass gave no answer. 

It was no less than Mr. Segundus expected. He drew himself up, ignoring the aches in his limbs. “I knew you would honor your promise to return this eve. I knew you would ride all day to reach Starecross, just as I knew it would be you who would come down this road. You would be tired and cross as you are now, and worrying over my foolishness and the danger I had set myself against. Now, sir, you have a taste of what it is like to care for John Childermass.”

Childermass stood motionless for some time. The weight of Mr. Segundus’ words a seemed to thicken the very air about them. At length, Childermass’ eyes narrowed and there came a great loud crack that split the night. A section of the wall behind Mr. Segundus toppled and crumbled to bits. Segundus swallowed and took a step back, cursing himself for this weakness but frightened of the look in the man’s eyes.

“You did this to teach me a lesson?” Childermass’ voice was lower, rougher than usual. 

Segundus came forward, not one step but two. His voice had lost its anger, edge, and frustration until there remained only a soft and gentle consternation. “I did this to make you understand how much it is we, I, worry over you.”

Deathly silence, until finally. “Very well, you have done it, now what is it that you wish to gain from this ridiculousness?”

Mr. Segundus gathered his resolve and held the dark gaze. “A promise, that is all. In aiding you we have all endangered our lives. We would chuse it again without thought, sir, for you have a home in our hearts. Yet what would become of us if something were to happen to you upon the road? The certainty is that we would all be lost in our coming battle against the fiend. I, we, ask that you remain at Starecross. There is nothing out there in your travels that will give you the answer. We are magicians, the lot of us, and together we will find the solution that will bring victory over that infantile creature. This is not on your shoulders alone. Now, your promise, sir!”

Childermass did not answer for some time. He only stood amid the swirling snow, staring past Segundus, eyes far a field. When his answer did come, it was abrupt. “You have my promise, and my humblest apologies for the worry I have caused Starecross. Though I have brought this upon us all, we will face this together.”

Mr. Segundus nodded; a look of utmost relief settling over his features. Yet Childermass could tell there was something still worrying at the man; for he stood fidgeting, a dark nervous lump near drowning in the folds of the coat.

At length, Mr. Segundus broke the silence. “There is one more thing.”

“With you, sir, there always is.” The words left Childermass in a tired sigh.

“Upon the road, after your restoration...” Segundus paused, his face burning despite the chill of the air.

“Yes,” answered Childermass.

“Why, did you?...”

“It was all I could give. I cannot be what you want me to be, sir.”

“I want you to be nothing more, or less, than John Childermass!”

Segundus dared a step, then another to close the space between them. He raised his hand and pressed it to Childermass’ chest. For all his appearance of calm, John Childermass’ heart was racing. Even through the many layers the man wore against the cold of the night Segundus could feel the strength of it beneath his palm. Not so very long ago it had seemed John Childermass’ heart would be stilled forever and Mr. Segundus remembered most unwillingly the despair that sent him to his knees. On this night it was a most wondrous thing and Segundus savored the feel of that steadfast rhythm.

Then, with oh-so-much care, and some bit of fear, he loosened the woolen scarf about Childermass’ neck. Pulling the fabric aside he bared skin to the chill of the snow and wind. His hands clasped the front of the taller man’s coat and Segundus pulled himself closer until his lips reached the exposed flesh of John Childermass’ throat. There he placed one gentle press of his lips, and when no protest followed, another. Segundus smiled at the stubble prickling his skin and wondered if ever in his life John Childermass had managed to be clean shaven. At length his path drifted to smooth flesh and here he paused to leave a lingering kiss upon the thrumming vein beneath pale skin. Face nestled in the crook of Childermass’ shoulder; Segundus took a deep breath inhaling the scent of tobacco and forest loam. Another kiss found its way through ragged hair.

“Enough,” whispered Childermass in that deep voice full of smoke and secrets. When he pushed Segundus away it was neither fierce nor gentle, only an ending. “There are others waiting and worrying, sir. It is not right to keep them any longer."

Childermass settled the scarf about his throat, then turned and whistled to Brewer. Climbing into the saddle he reached down to pull Mr. Segundus behind. Childermass noted the small man’s expression was as determined and thoughtful as the one he had borne at York all those years ago. 

At length the Raven King’s servant voiced his thoughts. “You are a fool, John Segundus.”

Mr. Segundus grasped the offered hand and clambered up behind with neither grace nor skill.

“Yet it would seem to the last, sir, that I am your fool.” He answered, as he had on that dreadful night and as he would answer from now until the last of his days, of this he was sure. 

  


The journey back to Starecross was swift and thankfully uneventful. Childermass left Brewer to pick his pace, and the horse while not giving one wit for the holidays of humans, an overcooked goose and cold pie, did understand a warm stall and plenty to eat waited at the end of this journey. So the steed set off at a collected lope, a dark form sailing through the night bearing his master and the small timid man with the pocket of sweets.

When they rounded the last bend in the road, Childermass saw that Mr. Honeyfoot had kept his promise, and indeed, done one better. It seemed every lantern in Starecross had been lit and placed upon the wall or hung in the bare branches of snowy trees. It was a most welcoming sight.

Once inside, they were greeted with heartfelt embraces of relief and there was no small amount of scolding directed John Segundus’ way. Childermass left the man to his fate and slipped quietly off to his room where Agatha saw to it that he got his basin of warm and soapy water.

Some time later, Childermass sat before the hearth in the Honeyfoot’s parlor, feet propped upon a padded stool, pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. Belly full to bursting with goose cooked to perfection, soft bread slathered with jam, and more sweetmeats than he could recall. His bones at ease, the stitch in his side soothed. Heavy lidded eyes stared through the parted curtain at the snow falling outside. 

He did not intend upon moving for a great while.

Nearby was Vinculus, stretched upon the carpeted floor before the hearth screen like a great gangly hound, and snoring just as loudly. Behind him at a table Mr. Honeyfoot and Segundus were engaged in a lively debate regarding the unpredictable nature of wild magic and the control of the weather. Childermass surmised they were both wrong on a few accounts, but was far too content to add his voice to the conversation. In the corner, Mrs. Honeyfoot, Agatha, and Jacob played a raucous hand of hearts, and Childermass was sure that each one of them to the last was more than a bit drunk judging from the amount of giggling and shouts filling the air. He drifted to sleep on the comforting swell of their voices, the snorts of Vinculus, and the crackling of the fire. 

He awoke late in the night to find himself alone in the room, yet far from abandoned. The fire in the hearth burned high on fresh timber that would last until morning light. His shoes had been removed, and his fine new blanket - a gift from Mrs. Honeyfoot and Agatha - was draped across his legs. He yawned and stretched before settling back down into the comfort of the chair.

It was then that he noticed a small cloth bag tied with a red striped ribbon set upon the chair-side table; a folded card placed neatly before it. Childermass picked up the card and read the message inscribed in small and precise writing.

_My journey this night was not simply to teach you a lesson. There was a second purpose, a most important one. I know, sir, that Brewer is not the only creature with a fondness for sweets. And so for you, one more gift this night.  
S._

Childermass plucked the bag from the table and pulled the ribbon. The fresh scent of sugar and peppermint filled the air. A deep noise of appreciation rumbled in his chest when he plucked a candy from the bag and placed it upon his tongue. After a time there came the impatient crunch of teeth and the cold sweet burst of mint throughout his mouth.

For years Childermass had denied himself many luxuries, expensive and miniscule, they wiled away coin, distractions that made a man soft. Since he had come to be at Starecross in the company of this eclectic group, things had changed, he had changed, and he surmised this was not such a bad thing.

Childermass tucked the card into his vest pocket and plucked one more mint from the bag before replacing the ribbon. The curtains remained open and he enjoyed the view of snow lit by the glow of one stubborn lantern swaying in the tree. He began to hum a Yule tune heard in the last town he had passed through. It was lively and warm, a fitting accompaniment to this first proper Christmas, and he, John Childermass admitted that he felt neither soft, nor distracted, only content.

Without a thought as to why, Childermass’ fingers came to rub at a place upon his throat hidden by ragged hair. He paused when he heard the barest scuff of a shoe at the parlor doorway followed by the lightest sound of retreating footsteps.

His innkeeper.


End file.
